A letter to my ex.

Dear You, The summer was confusing.  I missed you and you confessed you still loved me. We nearly met up to see if we could rekindle things.  We didn’t meet – thank God.  Being friends wasn’t going to happen, was it?  At least not yet.  Any anyway, I was seeing someone (admittedly I wasn’t as invested…

‘Oh fuck this is exciting. I mean. Cool, whatever.’

He was so nice; a far cry from the usual arseholes I seem to attract. And the problem with having a deep-rooted belief that all men are bellends is that when Mr Good Guy comes along, somewhere in my amygdala amongst the serotonin and dopamine, Mr Good Guy gets confused with Mr Perfect; aka Prince…